Mama Fang was utterly terrified.
Tingqin’s shouts had drawn a crowd.
When Qu Ling arrived, she saw Tingqin pointing at Mama Fang, “You wicked, black-hearted woman! The Marquis sent you to fetch someone, yet you came to kill!”
“It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me,” Mama Fang was panic-stricken. Catching sight of Qu Ling from the corner of her eye, she widened her eyes, “It was you…”
The young mistress had killed her own wet nurse and framed her.
Qu Ling wore a sorrowful expression, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “Let’s report this to the authorities.”
Report to the authorities?
The servants who had followed felt their hearts leap to their throats.
“We cannot involve the authorities,” an older steward quickly interjected. “This is an internal matter of the Hou Manor. We should return to the capital and let the Marquis handle it.”
He glanced at Qu Ling—just a young girl, nothing to fear.
“Young mistress, we must not delay. We should set off for the capital immediately.”
Qu Ling seemed not to hear him and turned to instruct Guanqi, “Go report this to the authorities.”
Guanqi immediately started to leave.
The steward hurriedly had her stopped and spoke with grave concern, “Young mistress, family scandals should not be aired in public. If you make a scene like this, the Marquis will be displeased when he finds out.”
Everyone who had come along would suffer the consequences.
“My wet nurse is dead. She died while drinking with Mama Fang,” Qu Ling stated only this.
“It wasn’t me…” Mama Fang jumped in agitation, wanting to argue.
Qu Ling looked at her, her eyes dark and terrifying. “Are you saying it was me?”
“It was you,” Mama Fang said in terror.
The young mistress was truly ruthless.
Her birth mother had died in childbirth—Mama Zhou had been like a mother to her.
How… how could she bring herself to do it?
“Do you also think it was me?” Qu Ling asked the steward.
The steward didn’t dare to nod. “Let’s detain Mama Fang for now and await further instructions from the Marquis. How does that sound?”
Only then did Qu Ling continue dabbing her tears with the handkerchief. “My wet nurse is dead, and I am ill. I cannot travel for now.”
As she turned away, a faint smile flickered in her eyes.
The poison had been bought from Madam Mu in the neighboring residence.
She had asked Madam Mu to take her pulse.
Just like in her previous life.
“Furong Xiao,” Madam Mu said expressionlessly. “It will turn you into a madwoman.”
“Can it be cured?” Qu Ling asked.
Madam Mu remained indifferent. “Stop taking it, and it will.”
“Can you prepare it?”
“It’s very expensive.”
Qu Ling bought one bottle of lethal poison and fed it to Mama Zhou.
She also bought a bottle of Furong Xiao to take back to the capital.
In March, tender shoots sprouted from tree branches, and withered grass turned emerald green.
Of course, Qu Ling was not ill. She took Tingqin and went to Nanchan Temple.
The temple was not particularly bustling with incense.
During her six years in Jiangzhou, Qu Ling had visited monthly, and everyone in the temple knew her.
“I am leaving and wish to ask for something from you, Master,” Qu Ling knelt before the Buddha, gazing devoutly at the kind-faced Old Monk seated cross-legged.
“The hostility within you seems to have deepened,” the Old Monk said.
Qu Ling pressed her palms together. “I will burn incense and chant sutras to dispel calamities.”
The Old Monk closed his eyes for a long time before finally removing his Buddhist beads and placing them on the incense table. “Chant the sutra, young lady. A thousand recitations of the Rebirth Mantra, lest the spirits of the dead haunt your dreams and the fires of karma consume you.”
The one hundred and eight ebony prayer beads were each inscribed with sutras.
Qu Ling knelt before the Buddha, winding the beads three times around her palm.
Incense smoke curled upward, and the Buddha gazed down with compassionate eyes upon the woman kneeling on the prayer mat.
The hall was silent and still.
The Old Monk had departed at some unknown hour.
Chi Yuan entered the main hall and saw a girl in plain white robes murmuring words under her breath.
As he drew closer, he realized she wasn’t reciting Buddhist scriptures, but rather human names.
With each bead she flicked on her Buddhist rosary, a name was spoken.
“…Not a single one shall escape…” The girl’s eyes were closed, a strange smile playing on her lips.
Hearing those names, Chi Yuan couldn’t help but speak up, “Miss, are you from the Dingxiang Marquis Manor?”
Qu Ling abruptly opened her eyes, her movements stilling.
When she looked up, her breath caught.
The man in a blue long gown was strikingly handsome, with features as exquisite as a painting, his every movement exuding an air of scholarly refinement.
Yet at this moment, his brows were tightly furrowed, carrying an inquisitive expression.
Chi Yuan.
Vice Minister of the Court of Judicial Review, the legitimate eldest son of Jingwei Hou Manor.
In her previous life, after she had killed someone and was imprisoned in the Court of Revision,
Chi Yuan had asked her, “What hardship drove you to this?”
Unwilling to speak, she had curled into a ball, emaciated beyond recognition.
Chi Yuan had patiently persisted, “Did they bully you? Were you forced into a corner?”
Still she refused to speak, only tears streaming down uncontrollably.
Chi Yuan came every day, crouching before her cell, talking to her.
His voice was pleasant—gentle, soft, and reassuring.
Even at her death, the only one who saw her off was Chi Yuan.
The poisoned wine was sent by the Princess.
The Crown Prince had insisted in court that she be executed by slow slicing, so the Princess could only send her off this way.
In her final moment, she saw Chi Yuan standing not far away, fists clenched, his eyes filled with struggle, reluctance, and pity.
“You recognize me, young master?” Qu Ling smiled brightly.
In her heart, she whispered, Chi Yuan, we meet again.
“The names you just mentioned include the Dingxiang Marquis and his two sons,” Chi Yuan’s face flushed slightly as he clasped his hands in apology. “It was impolite of me to eavesdrop—I apologize for my rudeness.”
Qu Ling replied generously, “It’s fine. I was reciting them for Buddha to hear. Since you heard them, it only proves we are fated.”
“Are they your enemies?” Chi Yuan asked.
Qu Ling lifted her head, meeting his eyes.
They were exceptionally beautiful eyes, clear and transparent.
She smiled faintly, “They are my family.”
Chi Yuan was stunned.
“Young master, we shall meet again in the capital.” Qu Ling flicked a Buddhist bead, her skirt fluttering as she gracefully departed.
The Hou Manor should be sending others to fetch her by now.
Dingxiang Marquis Manor.
The Old Madam was venting her anger, “How could the legitimate eldest daughter of the Hou Manor be fetched by a mere servant? And now a life has been lost!”
She blamed the Marquise Song Shi, “How did you handle this matter?”
Song Shi hurriedly apologized, “This daughter-in-law was not thoughtful enough.”
In her heart, she scoffed—such hypocrisy, utterly two-faced.
Who was sent, did she not know?
Yet outwardly, she appeared sincere, “I shall send A Heng to fetch his elder sister back.”
The Old Madam’s anger subsided slightly, “A Heng needs to study. Do not disturb him. In my opinion, send A Sheng instead.”
Qu Sheng was the illegitimate son of the second branch.
Idle and aimless.
A deeper smile touched Song Shi’s lips, “Mother dotes on A Heng. A Heng will surely repay your kindness with filial piety.”
The Old Madam was pleased but still warned, “That maid you sent—just have her beaten to death. The people around you need to be purged as well. Times are different now.”
Song Shi’s smile remained unchanged, “Mother’s lesson is rightly given. Coincidentally, I shall enter the palace tomorrow and ask Empress Song for a few who understand propriety.”
The Old Madam’s eyes tightened slightly.
This was to remind her: Empress Dowager Song may be dead, but the Song Family has not fallen.
Empress Song still remains in the palace.
The Old Madam smiled without warmth. “Is the courtyard prepared for A’Ling?”
Before Song Shi could reply, she continued, “How about having her stay in Nuanshan Residence?”
“That’s Lianzhi’s courtyard,” Song Shi couldn’t remain calm. “Does Mother intend to drive Lianzhi out?”
Seeing her lose composure, the Old Madam felt much more satisfied.
“Who said anything about driving out? A’Ling is the elder sister. The people you sent caused her wet nurse’s death. If she returns and makes a scene again, all this commotion will only make Hou Manor a laughingstock.”
When Song Shi emerged, her eyes were dark and gloomy.
“Must we truly give up Nuanshan Residence?” Mama Cao, her most trusted confidante, supported her.
“Of course not,” Song Shi said. “Let her make a scene.”
That bastard child and the old witch—the more they fight, the better it would be if they destroyed each other.